Rumors of a sex tape featuring Rocco Monroe have Colombians up in arms. Mendoza, who is a demigod to many . . .

She’d been here for three hours, Joey had long ago left, and Rocco hadn’t heard a peep from her. He knocked on her door softly. “Annie?”

“Yeah. Come in.” He opened the door to find her sprawled on the bed with a book in her hand.

“What are you reading?”

She turned the book to show him the cover: The Art of War by Sun Tzu. He couldn’t help but smile. How could he expect anything less from her? “Some light reading, I see.”

She smiled and sat up. “Well, it’s not as juicy as reading all about your sex tape scandal, but it’ll do.” It was the first time he’d seen her smile. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and her nose scrunched up just a tiny bit, making her look younger.

“Don’t believe everything you read. It’s bullshit.”

“None of my business.” She shrugged. “Technically, I don’t start until tomorrow. But I wanted to get settled in so that I’d be ready to start in the morning. I didn’t want to get in your way.”

“You’re not in the way. We have to stick together for the next few months, we better get all the awkwardness out of the way soon. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, you’re right. I should probably start by apologizing for the other day. I shouldn’t have flipped you off. I probably should have said that earlier today. Although you were a sexist asshole, so . . . there’s that.”

“So you’re not apologizing? I’m not following.”

She bit her bottom lip. “I am apologizing. About the finger. I shouldn’t have done that.”

She was cute. “And you’re right. I was being an asshole. I’m sorry about that. I misjudged you. And well . . . you kicked my ass and made your point. Let’s call it even?”

“Deal.” Why was she being so amenable all of a sudden? It was nice, but he couldn’t help be suspicious at the change.

“What?” she asked, sitting up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You weren’t this nice earlier.”

She sagged a bit and he couldn’t help but smile. He wanted to walk further into the room and sit beside her on the bed, but she’d been so defensive earlier, he didn’t think she’d welcome him in her space. “I had some time to think and I think I was unnecessarily bitchy earlier.”

Yes, he wanted to yell. But being the intelligent man that he was, he kept his trap shut. “It’s okay. No sweat,” he said, leaning against the armoire casually. She nodded and sat back on the middle of the bed, taking some papers and placing them on her lap. “Since you’re here, you want to discuss the schedule for the week?” She patted the space at the foot of the bed. It was her way of giving him permission to get closer, he noted.

“Sure.” He sat down and pulled out his phone where he kept all his dates.

“It’s weird you don’t have an assistant, by the way.”

“I like things done my way.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Oh damn, don’t tell me you’re a control freak.”

“No. It’s not that, not at all, actually. Just, I don’t know, I’m not used to people doing things for me. I had an assistant for a few months once, but I just prefer to do it myself. Paying someone to do what I’m perfectly capable of doing for myself seems wrong or something.” He flipped through his week’s schedule, and then looked up. She was looking at him differently. As if it was the first time she’d ever actually seen him. “You okay over there, Tiger?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Yes. So what do you got?”

It was odd to have someone on his bed that he couldn’t touch, but he had to admit she looked good there. And he liked that she’d made herself comfortable. What he didn’t like was how quick she shifted back into all-business mode. It left him feeling discombobulated. He looked away from her questioning eyes and down at the calendar on his phone. “Um . . . okay, on Thursday I have a meeting with the studio at the Palms Hotel, and after that Spelling is having a pre-production dinner at his house on Star Island. Then on Friday, I have a fundraiser gala at Vizcaya.”

She skimmed her notes. “And then on Saturday you have a Skype meeting with the studio heads from NHN, Sunday you’re free, and on Monday production begins. We’ll get a schedule and location detail for that soon, right?” She didn’t look back up until she was finished, and when she did look up, a chunk of her hair, which had been piled up high on her head in some sort of messy bun, fell out and covered her right eye. She tucked it behind her ear and continued to look at him, puzzled. But he was so taken by the action, for some reason, that he couldn’t look away. The way her delicate fingers and her lithe arms moved. It was astounding to think this was the same woman who had body-flipped him. “Rocco? Did I miss an event?” She looked back down to her schedule. “Paul sent this to me, I thought I had it all.”

“Um.” He looked down at his phone. “Sunday I have a Boys and Girls Club thing in the morning.”

She flipped the sheet front and back. “I don’t see that here.”

“Because it’s something I don’t normally publicize. I don’t want the paparazzi following and disrupting.”

She looked at him for a moment, almost waiting for the punchline. He hated how most people thought they knew him from whatever bullshit they’d read in a tabloid. Yes, he volunteered his time, privately. And it ticked him off that she, of all people, would find the notion of him volunteering to be absurd. Eventually she shrugged and wrote it down on her schedule. “Anything else I missed?”

“No, that’s about it. Sometimes things come up. And those were just events. I do leave the house, Annie. Like to go jogging, or visit friends or whatever . . .”

“No problem. I jog and can be perfectly civil with your friends. Just let me know of anything else you may have going on. You can’t leave without me. You’re stuck with me. You can go ahead and assume that anywhere you go for the next four months, I’ll be there too.” Then she looked down, and her cheeks reddened. “And if you need time alone . . . you know . . . to entertain—just let me know and I’ll make myself scarce. I won’t like, be inside with you, because, well, that’s weird. But I do need to make sure the location is safe and secure, and I can’t be too far away. In fact, if you could give me a heads-up, it would be best. That way I can send someone from ICS to secure the area first. But, anyway, I won’t cramp your style.”

Holy shit, she was cute.

And crazy.

“When I said ‘entertain’ at our first meeting, I meant, entertain. Like, use the pool, cocktails, maybe a barbeque. I can keep my dick in my pants, Annie.”

She held her palms up. “None of my business.”

He reached for her hands. They felt small and soft in his. “Do me a favor, will ya? Don’t believe everything you read. Whatever preconceived notion you have of me . . . it’s wrong. I sell an image, but that image isn’t the real me. So please don’t assume anything. Just ask me, okay?” He placed her hands down on the bed and now her cheeks were redder than a moment ago.

She swallowed. “Yeah, okay. Sorry about that. Sometimes I ramble.”

“I noticed. It’s cute and a bit crazy.”

She snorted and then covered her mouth. “Yeah, so I’ve been told.” He stood up and extended his hand to her. “My friend Paul is coming by to go over some things and I’m going to grill some steaks. Why don’t you come join us?”

“Paul Allen. Your agent. Friends since you were young. Works at Allen and Associates.”

“Uh . . . yes. That one. Shoe size eleven.”

“Oh, I actually didn’t know that, I’ll have to annotate my notes.”

Was that a joke? Her easy smile made him think she was teasing him. Obviously she’d done her homework, not just on him but on everyone.

“So, dinner?”

“Nah, I’m good. But thank you for the offer. Did you receive a box I had delivered?”

“The protein shit?”

She rolled her eyes. “The protein shakes, yes.”

“Wendy put them in the pantry.”

She sat up a little straighter, and her fingers stopped moving. “Wendy?”

“She comes by most days to clean,” he explained.

“Oh, okay. Wow, why didn’t I know about a Wendy?” She picked up her file and started skimming through it. “Thanks for the dinner offer. I’ll just grab one of my shakes later on.”

“You’re going to have a shake instead of dinner?”

She looked up and shrugged. “Yeah. No biggie. Tomorrow I want to do a full walk-through of the house.” Then she hopped off the bed and walked to the door, standing by it as if dismissing him. “Again, your security system sucks. But we’ll sort it out.”

“Um . . . okay.”

“Have a good evening, Rocco.”

Shocked and disconcerted, he walked out as the door closed behind him.

Did she kick me out of the room?

Yes, I think she did.

* * *

“What’s up with you?” Paul asked an hour later, after they’d gone over a bunch of paperwork, none of which Rocco had read or even glanced at. He had been so damn distracted. His mind was reeling. She was not affected by him. She really wasn’t going to walk across the hall to his room in the middle of the night in just a red lace thong and sit on his face so he could ravage her pussy.

He stood and walked outside, turning on the grill. “Hello? Earth to Rock.”

“She is a fucking enigma, man. She’s just . . . there.”

“Who?”

“Annabelle.”

“Your new bodyguard?” Then he looked around. “She’s here?”

“Exactly, you didn’t even know, did you? You’ve been here almost two hours and not a single word from her. That’s the problem. She won’t come hang out. She’s all about keeping things professional.”

“That’s good.”

“If we’re going to be in each other’s faces for months shouldn’t she try to be . . . I don’t know, friendly?”

Paul picked up a beer and drank, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “She wasn’t friendly?”

“She was.” Not at first. But eventually, in her own awkward babbling sort of way.

“I don’t understand.”

Frustrated, Rocco shook his head and placed the two steaks on the grill.

“Forget it. I’m just being . . . I don’t know, just forget it.” He flipped the steaks over.

“I’m thinking that your definition of friendly is not the same as mine,” Paul teased.

A small delicate knock from the glass doors startled Rocco just as he was about to glare at Paul.

“Guess your enigma’s here,” Paul whispered as he signaled for her to join them.

“Shut your mouth,” Rocco whispered before Annie stepped out.

“Sorry to interrupt. You think I can borrow your blender now?”

“Cabinet next to the microwave.”

“Thanks,” she said, tucking some hair behind her ear.

“Err . . . hi. You must be Annabelle Clad. I’m Paul Allen.”

“Hi,” she replied sweetly, taking a step outside to shake his friend’s hand. “Annie, please.”

“Well, Annie. My buddy here can be a pampered prima donna. So let me be the one with manners and invite you to have dinner with us.”

She looked up at Rocco and smiled and then back at Paul. “Actually, he did invite me earlier. I’m good, though. Nice to meet you. Enjoy your dinner,” she said, glancing up at Rocco. When their eyes met, she quickly averted them and walked back into the house.

“Dude. She’s hot. No wonder you’re all fucked up in the head.”

A low snarl came out of Rocco’s chest and a possessiveness he’d never felt before burned through his body. Never had he fought for a woman before, especially not with his best friend, but he would if he had to.

“Relax,” he chuckled. “You need to get your shit together. Hot or not, interested or not, it’s out of the question.”

Rocco had turned around and was flipping the steak over. “And why’s that?”

“Because the shit with the studio is real, man. The threats are happening. You may not be getting them directly here in the form of a courier, but people are pissed off. She needs to protect you.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Rock,” his friend warned. “If she quits and you’re left without a tail, not only will the studio fine you or maybe even fire you, but she could get fired too.”

He looked at her through the glass doors. Loose cotton shorts, the bottom of her ass unintentionally hanging out when she bent forward to get the blender. His dick tightened. Paul was right, he had to keep things professional. At least for now. Otherwise she’d quit and he’d either get fired or a Neanderthal for a bodyguard. Neither sounded pleasant.

“Fuuuuck.” The next four months were going to suck.

* * *

Annie woke up startled. The complete lack of light that slipped through the sheer billowy curtains told her it was still dark out. Not even a hint of dawn.

Her heart pounded as she sat up and wiped sweat from her forehead. Like the VA therapist had taught her, she closed her eyes and counted backwards from one hundred while taking in deep breaths and exhaling slowly, focusing all of her energy on her breathing and not the nightmare that haunted her day in and day out.

After eight years, the death of Yagana, the barefoot, wide-eyed, little seven-year-old Afghan girl who’d died in Annabelle’s arms, still haunted her. It had been the first time she’d discharged her firearm with the intent to kill, but she hadn’t been on time, and Yagana’s screams echoed in her dreams together with her own. In her dreams she rocked the little girl in her arms while mayhem swirled all around, together with all the bloodshed.

So much blood.

It had taken her so many showers, hours and hours of scrubbing her skin raw, to get all the blood off of her hands. All these years later, she still felt the film of blood on her every time she looked down at them.

To this day, she didn’t know how she’d gotten from the alleyway in Kandahar, between two street vendors—both dead from the explosion—back to the nearest FOB, one of many operating bases in Afghanistan. It had been explained to her numerous times, but she could not remember it.

Her pulse would not settle down. If she went back to sleep, there’d be more of the same and she wasn’t ready to see those big brown lifeless eyes again. She moved her arm to wake up her Fitbit, and it showed her pulse was at one hundred and five. She also saw that it was four in the morning.

With a yawn she stood up and did her morning stretches. Stretching helped her feel centered, got her blood moving, and more important, cleared her mind. Twenty minutes later her pulse was down to almost normal at seventy-six when she stepped into the shower. She began to wash her skin, and when she felt a tinge of pain from scrubbing the same area over and over again, she let go of the sponge, remembering that the pain it caused her, the self-inflicted pain, wouldn’t bring Derek or Yagana back, nor would it make her feel any better. No one knew of her nightmares or her constant self-loathing, and she couldn’t let it affect this job. Her first real job.

For a brief moment, she had been tempted to fill up the extravagantly huge Jacuzzi and take a long hot bath and try to forget the nightmare that haunted her constantly. But she quickly remembered where she was.

At work.

She wasn’t at a spa. She was at a job. She needed to remember that.

* * *

“It’s not even seven in the morning,” she heard the gruff, half-asleep voice from behind her say. Refusing to turn around, frightened by what she would find, she pressed the button on the blender, which was clearly annoying him, again. Long fingers with surprisingly callused hands gripped her wrist, pushed her hand aside, and stopped the blender. “Jesus, Annie. Turn that shit off.”

Unable to continue to look away, she turned her head and it was worse than she feared. He had on low-hanging black cotton pants and no shirt. His lean body, with a light splay of dark chest hair she wanted to touch, was a foot away from her. Would it be coarse or soft against her palms? She swallowed and moved her eyes up his tanned body to his scruffy face and disheveled hair. A snicker jolted her out of her gawking.

“Annie?” He smiled at her with a knowing look, and she quickly turned her head back to her protein shake. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. What time do you normally wake up? I was hoping you’d give me a tour of the house. Do you have the architectural plans? And how—”

Those same strong hands were on her again, this time on her shoulder. “Take a breath, Tiger.”

Her heart beat wildly. She was notorious for acting hysterically when embarrassed. Funny thing, she could be in the middle of a desert with insurgents creeping around, and she was in full control. A handsome man called her a silly pet name and touched her shoulder and she became a lunatic.

“I, uh . . .”

“Are you okay?” He bent a little, cupped her chin, and moved her face so that she was forced to look at him.

“Yeah, fine.” She pulled away and busied herself pouring the drink into a glass.

“Wendy will be here soon, she can make you some breakfast.”

She tipped her glass up. “I’m good.”

“So, we’re doing the seven in the morning wake-up call every day? And you don’t eat solids? Got it.”

“I’ve been up since four. Went running, took a shower already. And I do eat solids. But I like to try and eat healthy when I can. I’m a terrible cook, so trust me, you’ll know when I cook. I’ll try my best not to burn down your house.”

“I’m offering you non-burnt food, you know?”

“I don’t want to impose, really, it’s okay. I lived off worse things when I was in Iraq and these really aren’t bad. They’re organic and this one’s chocolate. And I’ll grab some fruit too, so don’t worry. I’m good.”

“If you say so.” He shrugged as if not believing for one second that the shakes were tasty. But they really were. “Why have you been up since four?”

Her internal clock didn’t allow for her to have lazy mornings, although this particular morning had her up an hour earlier than usual. “Dunno. At five my eyes just open. But today, I guess since I’m not used to being here, I just woke up a little earlier,” she lied.

“Wow, well, something you should know about me. My eyes never just open. I need alarms, snooze buttons, and sometimes a good kick in the ass . . .”

“ . . . or a loud blender.”

He chuckled. “Or a loud blender.”

“I’ll try to keep it down from now on.”

“It’s fine. Really. I want you to make yourself at home. If waking up at the crack of dawn and drinking all your meals makes you feel comfortable, then do that.”

“Rocco, this isn’t my home. I’m not on vacation. I do appreciate you making all these efforts to make me feel welcomed, but I’m here for a job. We’re not friends.”

And there it was, she’d crushed his sweet spirit. The truth was, so far, she hadn’t seen the diva she’d expected from the first meeting they’d had and from all the research she’d done on him. Yes, he’d worn what seemed like excessively expensive clothes on the initial meeting, but since then he’d been casual, nothing formal in his style or demeanor. Even his house was underwhelming . . . in a good way. And, he’d been kind and hospitable. But she’d just crushed it. Stepped on it and spit on it. His demeanor changed before her eyes and she felt sick to her stomach at having hurt him. She couldn’t understand how her words could have any impact whatsoever on him, since they’d just met, but they had. Instantly he locked himself up and his eyes became cold.

“Heads up, Wendy’ll be here soon. She’s chatty but harmless. Try to be nice, if it’s possible. She’s a good woman who’s been through a lot.” He turned and went back upstairs.

God, didn’t she feel like a world-class bitch.

* * *

It turned out that Wendy was a talker but a sweet and excited talker. A rotund woman in her late fifties who clearly loved Rocco, she wouldn’t let Annie wash the blender or even make her own bed. She followed her all over the house, yapping sweetly the entire time. She reminded Annie of her mother. Which reminded her that she’d missed two Sunday dinners in the last month that she needed to make up to her mom soon. As overbearing as they could be, Annie still missed the hell out of her family, especially now that her brothers were all in town, a very rare occurrence.

When Rocco finally emerged from his room, his hair was wet and slicked back. He wore loose-fitting jeans that looked ancient and a plain black T-shirt, and his face was cleanly shaven. Not once did his eyes meet Annie’s.

“Wendy, my love, how I’ve missed you,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Wendy waved him off. “I just saw you yesterday.” But her smile was huge and genuine. “I hope he’s being a good boy. Polite?”

“Oh . . . uh yes. Very much so.”

Wendy patted him sweetly on the shoulder. “Never doubted it. I’ll get out of your hair. I’ll see you tomorrow. It was lovely to meet you, Annie.”

“It was a pleasure, Wendy.”

Alone again, they stood on the upstairs landing, awkwardly.

“Good time as any to give you a tour,” he said. “Come on. We can start upstairs and work our way down.”

“Sure. One sec.” She ran to her room, grabbed a notepad, and came back. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“So you’ve already seen your room,” he said, pointing to where she’d been staying. Again, she couldn’t help but eye the way the house was decorated. It was so simple yet beautiful. It’s how she would decorate if she lived there.

“Did you decorate?” It was an odd question, but she couldn’t help asking. She’d wondered since the moment she stepped inside.

“Some of the things I purchased through the years, but I also had a decorator help.” He held the door open to her as he spoke. “Why? You don’t like it?”

He was close to her as she walked through the door and she noticed he was very careful not to touch her. Even when they walked through the narrow hall he stepped away. “No. No, I love it. It’s just not what I imagined.”

“What did you imagine?”

“I don’t know. Something more pretentious or gaudy, I suppose.”

“It seems like you made a lot of assumptions about me.”

Ouch.

He was right.

She had come here with certain expectations. She ticked them off in her head. First, he’d only hired her because he was physically attracted to her. But other than a few stares and heated moments, he hadn’t been inappropriate. Second, he was a womanizing asshole, but so far he’d been sweet and chivalrous and there hadn’t been any signs of him gallivanting. Third, he was wealthy and lived ostentatiously. That was the completely wrong assumption. He had a lovely home but it wasn’t what a millionaire of his caliber would own. She’d seen him on that first meeting wearing expensive designer clothes, but since then she’d seen him dress casually in much the same style and brand names as her brothers. So, yeah . . . she’d been a judgmental cow and she felt terrible about it now.

There was no difference between what she had done and what men did to her all the time. They assumed that she couldn’t handle something just because she was a woman.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I did come here with certain assumptions, but you’ve pretty much squashed them. I expected solid gold toilets and jewel-encrusted staircases.”

He chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“No.” This time it was her who laughed. “No. This is perfect. Your house . . . it’s perfect.”

“Doesn’t like gold toilet or jewels. Noted. I learn something interesting about you every time you open your mouth.” He smiled at her and they stood there for a moment, neither of them moving.

Something shifted a little and she knew what it was, she was thawing. Her hesitance wasn’t about Rocco and it wasn’t fair that she was being so standoffish to him. He had easily admitted yesterday that he’d been wrong about her and he hadn’t done or said anything to show he didn’t trust in her abilities. She was making an already awkward situation worse by being so bitchy. He’d repeatedly extended an olive branch; it was on her to take it. It would ultimately make her job easier and it was time to focus on work.

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like jewels.”

“I’ll put that in my Annie-log.”

She smiled and then walked past him. “Shall we continue on the tour?” She pointed. “How about this room?”

“This is one of the guest rooms.”

“There’s three rooms upstairs, right?”

“Yes, three rooms, two baths upstairs. Downstairs there’s another guest room with an en-suite bathroom and there is another bathroom by the living room.”

Annie made notes and looked around at the windows and where they faced. “I want to take a more thorough look at the security system later too.” She would tell Joey to do a full check and upgrade.

“Sure.”

The first room they walked into was beautiful, but not as lovely as the one she was staying in. This one had a smaller bed and didn’t have a balcony. It seemed as if it had never been used. “What’s through there?” she asked when she saw a door.

“The Jack and Jill bathroom. It leads to the other bedroom.” He opened the door and she walked through it to the other room. This one looked lived in; the bed was still unmade. It was also not as big as the one she was staying in, but the bed was big like the one she was using. The color palette was a little darker and the furniture a little more masculine.

“Why don’t you use the big room for yourself?” she asked, running her hand against the dark wood armoire.

“I do. I thought you’d like that one better, so I moved rooms.”

She stopped and turned.

He switched rooms?

“It has a balcony and a nice view. I thought you’d like it,” he added, his brows furrowed and his lips turned down. Was he insecure?

“It’s beautiful. I mean . . . who wouldn’t love it? But you didn’t have to do that; I would’ve been perfectly fine in any of the rooms.”

“I wanted you to feel comfortable here.”

Gah! She couldn’t take it anymore. She felt like such a horrible person for having been so callous before. “I don’t want you to be put out. Did you change furniture and clothes and . . .”

“No, I just moved my clothes. The furniture was already there. It’s a little soft for my taste anyway. I’m okay being here. You are not putting me out,” he said, softening a little.

“If you say—” A loud noise, like a window being shattered, boomed. She had her Glock out before she took her next breath. “Stay here. Do not move. Call nine-one-one.”

“No!” He pulled her behind him and began to walk out of the room.

“Monroe. Goddamn it.” When he didn’t listen, she yanked his arm up high on his back, causing him to squeal, and pushed him away. Slamming the door shut, she quickly pulled the decorative chair from the hall against the door, locking him in, and silently moved toward the noise, which had come from the master bedroom where she was staying.

From behind she could vaguely hear Rocco pounding and cursing, but all her senses were honed on the threat. All the years of training made her hyperaware of her surroundings, the sounds, the smells, the feel . . . everything. She was sure no one was in the house, but she wasn’t taking a risk. With her back against the wall, she used the heel of her shoe to slowly open the door, and when she didn’t hear a noise she moved inside, her gun cocked and ready.

The sheer curtain by the balcony was billowing in the wind, torn in a few areas from the shards of glass caused by the shattered balcony window. She looked right then left, slowly making her way to the nearest door, which was the huge walk-in closet. Again, after a quick sweep, it was empty. As she made her way to the bathroom, she could hear the sound of sirens from afar.

“Don’t you ever—” It was Rocco yelling breathlessly from the bedroom door, which now had a hole from where he’d kicked it open.

“Don’t move,” she yelled, quickly assessing that the bathroom was safe and then walking out to the balcony. “There’s glass everywhere. Room’s empty, but stay put.”

She barely noticed his flaring nostrils or ticking jaw as she put her back against the wall closest to the balcony and carefully peeked out. It was impossible for her to go outside without chancing being shot at if the perp was watching. With her chin, she signaled for Rocco to follow her out of the room.

Once they were both out of the room he grabbed her shoulders and gently shook her. “What the fuck, Annie. Are you crazy?”

“What the fuck, what?” She pushed him away.

“You don’t go running into fucking danger. You don’t lock me in a goddamn room,” he barked, his hair sticking out all over the place and his nostrils flared, as he heaved in a breath.

“Yes, I do. I do go running into danger. It’s my job!” she yelled back, walking past him to the door to let in the police.

At least he’d managed to do that.

“We’ll finish this talk later,” he growled.

There was no talk to be had. Not now. Not later. It was her job. And somehow she’d managed to royally piss off the client in a matter of forty-eight hours.

This was going to be an interesting four months.